Scar Tissue
by lock shock and barrel
Summary: [probably an overused title, but oh well] When Nathaniel has no one left in the world, all he can think to do is walk out on life. But someone still close to him may find it in themself to heal a broken soul...
1. Chapter 1

**a/n: So...lately I re-started The Amulet of Samarkand, and now I keep having this urge to raid Barnes and Noble in the middle of the night and steal the other two books. Because I don't have money to pay for them. But anyway...This is a bit AU, more or less. It's in England, but nowhere near where any of the other books take place. So...yes. Alright, have fun.**

The moment I felt my essence shiver, I started muttering imprecations in every language I knew. (1) All my planes started to distort and become skewed, and I underwent what some humans would call an "oh shit" moment. (2) And it was at that exact moment that I knew who was summoning me. I didn't bother with the thematics; instead, as I began slipping from the Other Place to Somewhere, England, I began composing a well thought out, intelligent retort for my 'master'.

"You know full well, Mr. Mandrake, that I am not your friend, or your pet, or your form of entertainment. I am a djinni, and I damn well deserve to be treated like one."

Irritated as I was, I took a glance at dear old Nathaniel, stoic as ever, staring at me from his pentacle. I cocked an eyebrow; strange how much one boy can change in only a year or so. Nathaniel, somewhere in his later teenage years, now sported a mess of poorly dyed hair that appeared as though he had been electrified. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, premature exhaustion that was common in young magicians. It was amazing they lived past thirty. His schoolboy clothing had been discarded for more stylish (3) garb; greyed denim pants, a black shirt with slanderous words spattered across it, and a long trench coat, which I presumed was stolen as it was far too large and ragged to be his own. While I was looking, I gazed about the room into which I was being summoned, and seriously questioned what had happened to the once-innocent child. As far as I could tell, Nathaniel now resided in a flat barely large enough to house himself, and dark enough to obscure and owl's vision; I caught the scent of something burning that certainly wasn't incense.

"What the hell happened to you, Nathaniel?"

An estranged giggle escaped the boy, though his dark eyes remained cold. He did not answer, but instead bored those black pools into my forehead, glazed over and distant. I would have hit him if not for the fact that I was technically bound to his will, and he could technically, despite all my years of saving his sorry ass, subject me to horrible torture. Technically. Though I highly doubted that he would, he didn't seem quite...normal.

"Bartimaeus..." I heard the faintest murmur from the figure in the pentacle.

"That _is_ what they call me." Perhaps my nonchalant manner of dealing with him would snap him back into reality and out of his hazed dreamland, like it once would have. No such luck. He only continued to stare. "What can I do for you, O Master?" Each word was so horribly facetious I thought even _I_ would want to punch myself. But at least it got an answer out of Nathaniel.

"I...I summoned you because I needed to...say goodbye," he explained laboriously, voice still low and hoarse.

"Are you...going somewhere?" I didn't like where he was headed; I like to be in the know (4), and I was more befuddled than a chicken in a glass room. Another demented snicker came from the shadowed form, shaking his skeletal body. There was a sharp halt to his laughter, and I expected him to go into detail about this 'goodbye' ordeal. However, as meticulously as possible, he raised up his arm, curled his last three fingers to his palm, his thumb and forefinger remaining outward, and put the tip of his forefinger to his temple, then pressing down his thumb and jerking his head to the side. Another peal of laughter, just as hollow and haunted as the first. An unstable concoction of emotion bubbled up inside me, corked only by my sensibility. I had no idea what to think, how to respond; to be angry for being summoned for a reason I scarcely knew, to be impressed that someone had summoned me while under the influence, or to feel utter shock for the truth that was vaguely placed in front of me: Nathaniel, barely an adult, was going to pull the trigger.

* * *

(1) Which happens to be quite a few. I was angry.

(2) I've been picking up some modern human phrases, sadly. Oh, well. It's not like I could help living around them when a certain someone had been calling me up every other day for a few years.

(3) Stylish to whom, I can't be certain.

(4) Another phrase. Mind searing, I know. To me, at least.

**a/n: Short, I know. Too bad for you.**


	2. Chapter 2

**a/n: I'm going to try to make as little reference to the books as possible, as I have not finished the trilogy, so if I have some continuity issues or whatever, do forgive me. Chapter 2. Word.**

"Nathaniel. Nathaniel! Shut up and listen to me! What the hell happened here?"

Nathaniel shook his head after his laughter had wisped away. He looked like he was about to fold into himself. "It doesn't matter now, Bartimaeus. You see, nothing matters anymore. At least it won't." Head sagging to his chest, he allowed his mop of hair to conceal his face. Since he had not left his pentacle, I still had to await whatever command he had for me, though it was clear he had no intentions of giving such a command. (1)

"As I've said before, I'm not here to entertain you, nor am I here to console you. I think I've done enough of your bidding these past few years, and I'm _tired_, alright Nathaniel? Whatever you may do in your personal life has no affect on me, despite what you may think."

This, I admit, was a bit of a lie; after spending an exorbant amount of time with the boy, I was no longer indifferent about him. Not to say I enjoyed his company, nor that I was his 'friend', but I most probably would not brush off his death very easily. However, at this particular moment, I could do nothing for him, and I probably never could. I am a djinni, not a psychologist. Nathaniel seemed too far gone for anyone to deal with. I may have heard him laugh again, but I was too engrossed in my own thoughts.

"It's a good night for a walk. Let's walk, and I can tell you everything," Nathaniel suddenly suggested, lifting himself out of the dank, shadowed bundle of himself. Though tempted to question his sanity, I was bound to his will, and if he wanted to take a walk, I would have to go with him. How he knew what time of day it was, I had no idea; as far as I could tell, there were no windows in the flat, and it was likely whatever chemicals had dripped into his mind were causing him hallucinations. But the master's word had to be obeyed, no loopholes, no questions. Muttering, I shifted form into a dog, a creature always willing for a walk, and stretched a bit.

"A walk it is. Now let's leave, this place is disgusting." (2)

---------

Trotting at Nathaniel's heels, I noted that it was indeed a pleasant evening. A sliver of moon hung low in the deep indigo sky, a few pinpoints of light encircling it. Many great people had once lived by these stars; now cheap imitations, gypsies, astrologers, defiled the stars to earn some money off of gullible commoners. A sad state of affairs. Much like magic. Noting the lack of speech from Nathaniel, the dog growled and nipped at the boy's calf. A nod, and Nathaniel began his slurred narrative.

"You see, Bartimaeus, no one really ever cared for me. My parents, they dumped me as soon as they could. I don't even remember their faces, Bartimeaus. My own parents. Underwood, he didn't give a damn about me, and his wife...she was my only reason for not just jumping out the window. She and Ms. Lutyens, before she...left. It was the only way to keep me sane. I was only about eleven when I first summoned you, Bartimeaus, you remember. I was so tired of waiting, of being worthless. I devoured every book I could find about magic. All in secret. But after Mrs. Underwood died, I...I had no point, really. I was lost. If you weren't there, I would have died."

"Damn right you would have."

"But that was years ago. And now...now I have no one. There's no meaning to my life anymore. Being a magician meant so much when I was younger, the idea fed a raging hunger inside me. But it just can't anymore. It's always empty, craving for _something_, something that isn't there. And I can't live with it anymore, Bartimeaus." By this time he had stopped walking, shuddering and threatening to cry. "You were the only one who I could count on to be there, even if you weren't really willing. It was at least better to pretend. But I can't do it anymore. So I just wanted to say goodbye for one last time. And...thank you for dealing with me."

He nodded, a soft smile creasing his tear-streaked face. The dog sat, bewildered, head cocked and ear flopping. For once, I had nothing to say (3). What _could_ I say? 'I'm sorry'? Nothing seemed right, but the silence was deafening.

"Nathaniel-"

"Let's keep walking." Nathaniel's sudden calm was disturbing, on the heels of basically stating he was planning to kill himself. What he was injecting to be so apathetic, I'll never know (4). I went back to walking at Nathaniel's side, eyes focused on the ground where the dog's paws stepped upon. It was then that I realized that I had never spent a moment with Nathaniel that did not require a draining amount of energy or me putting myself in Death's way. It was just...a walk. Out of the ordinary for me, yes, but it was a bit like a vacation. A bit of a deranged one, but every so often it was nice to take a sidestep out of reality and look upon the world. Look upon the poets and the starving artists, the orphans, they who know the world and the meaning of life, they who know everything, but can never tell, because no one ever listens...

**a/n: Hmm. A little poetic for Bartimaeus...Ah, well. Such is life. Do review.**

(1) It didn't seem like he had intention to do much of anything, really. Lazy bastard.

(2) Nathaniel's flat was a place I wish to burn from my memory. Words could not describe how rancid it was. Or perhaps it was the absence of light. It's not really certain.

(3) This happens very rarely. You should treasure the moment.

(4) Though if anger-management phacilities knew, they'd probably make millions.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/n: Oh yeah, I totally didn't not update this for about 3 months.**

It had taken far longer than necessary to return to Nathaniel's hovel, but this was probably due to the fact that suddenly everything fascinated the boy; anything that shone or moved or appeared to be looking at him became some sort of alien creation that simply had to be investigated for several minutes at a time. Perhaps it was the chemicals, or perhaps it was simply the state of mind that Nathaniel was in at the moment. Honestly, though, the two could have been interchanged. Eventually we had come full circle to the curb outside the complex, and both boy and dog sat on the pavement.

"Bartimaeus," the boy began, "if I were to die right now, would anyone care?"

"The landlord, because there'd be a corpse in front of his building." (1)

He nodded in response, as if he were actually comprehending and contemplating my answer. It was likely that the bit of sarcasm had gone completely over his head, or that he thought he was being clever and that I didn't realize he was paying no attention at all. The dog employed its paw to crush a spider which had scuttled by unwittingly to its death.

"What about you, Bartimaeus?"

"What if I died?" (2)

"No, I meant would you care if I died."

It was tempting to tell him no; it was my first reaction, in fact. Yet, my mind was spinning, for despite all I knew, and though decisions were always quick and precise, this question could not be answered directly. A sigh escaped the dog's nostrils. So many years had passed since my first encounter with Nathaniel. He was no more than a boy then, a boy with a taste for revenge, as most young boys tend to develop, for in their young minds, it is the only way to achieve greatness. Surely, he had grown since then, but he still craved power, as magicians do. It becomes the demise of them all. Curious, it is, for any man craves power, yet his powers are finite. Magicians...they know their power, all too well, and thus the lust for power always destroys them. I have seen far too many bring their own demise upon them to care anymore. But here, looking upon the bedraggled excuse for a boy, I saw no magician. I saw only a scared child, lost in the labyrinth of his own mind.

"Nathaniel..." I inhaled slowly. "I suppose this more complex than it should be. Death is so obsolete to me, the idea doesn't at all move me. And you'd think after so many years of serving the damn creatures, I especially wouldn't care if a magician died. Don't become attached, that's what they tell you, it makes everything so much harder..."(3) My voice tapered off as this last bit of advice was spoken. I wasn't attached. Impossible. After all I had gone through with the boy, I really should have hated him. Yet I couldn't bring myself to harbor hatred against this pitiful creature; rather, I decided it would have been far better to harbor the duty to drag him from this great black pit. What a foolish thing to decide. But if not I, then who?

Most likely having forgotten what lie within the dog's form, Nathaniel began to absentmindedly stroke the animal's fur, much to my discomfort. "It's good to know the stars are always there," he commented softly. (4)

"Yes...yes it is, Nathaniel..."

(1) This may not have been the best time for sarcasm, but I just can't help myself.

(2) At this rate I would probably die just listening to the boy talk.

(3) This advice is usually given to young children who delight in 'adopting' wild creatures and naming them, which of course only brings more tears when the ill-kept creature keels over.

(4) I contemplated reminding him that the stars were most likely dead at this point, due to the laws of light. But that would just be evil.


End file.
